


Concerto

by Toastybluetwo



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybluetwo/pseuds/Toastybluetwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Know thy Enemy. (Gen, Mass Effect 3 spoilers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerto

**Author's Note:**

> Medium-sized spoilers for the last part of Mass Effect 3.
> 
> This is a character sketch I did of my own Shepard, Gabrielle 'Gabby' Shepard, about some strong headcanon I have concerning her.

Concerto

“Sir. I’ve got the security footage that you requested from Mindoir.”

The Illusive Man’s attention diverted from the many monitors that hung in the air before him. Leaning back in his chair, he gestured in the direction of one of the monitors with a simple flick of ashes from his cigarette. “Put it on that one. Is it the one I requested?”

“Yes, sir. The exact one.” The woman’s voice floated over the communication system like a leaf upon the chilled air of the station. “January 17, 2170, 19:30, the McAuliffe Community Center, Mindoir.”

The screen changed, now depicting an overhead view of a stage, a piano, a number of chairs, and an audience just beyond. The audience stilled, then applauded as a woman walked up and onto the stage, carrying a PDA in one hand.

“Thank all of you for coming,” the woman greeted the audience in an overly cheerful voice. “The students in the music program of the Jimenez Academy have been working very hard –“

“Pause footage.” The Illusive Man raised his cigarette to his lips. “Take it forward to 19:35.”

The screen displayed a teenage boy seated on one of the chairs, a clarinet at his lips, his performance frozen in time.

“19:36.” A stream of smoke curled out from the cigarette, almost spiraling as it rose into the chilled air.

Again, the screen changed. The woman who had spoken at the beginning now seemed to be adjusting her reading glasses as she read from her PDA.

“Play.” Something grim settled into the single syllable.

“ – Mozart’s Piano Sonata Number Sixteen in C Major, played by Third Class student Gabrielle Shepard.” The woman moved off of the screen as the crowd of colonists applauded briefly and politely.

A tall, thin girl stepped onto the stage. A girl in her late teens, wearing a tunic and trousers of simple design, her hair cut short, her freckles evident upon her serious face even in the monochrome security footage. She sat at the piano, placed a PDA upon the small music stand, pressed a few buttons, and began to play.

Crushing out the remains of his cigarette, the Illusive Man picked up his gold cigarette case, his fingers caressing the intricate designs as he continued to watch the girl play, her eyes rarely leaving the music displayed on the PDA before her, and only to briefly look down at her own long, capable hands. With a snap, he opened the case, chose a new cigarette, and lit it with a series of practiced, almost fluid gestures.

“Increase volume by ten percent,” he murmured.

He recognized the determination in her freckled face. He had seen that expression so many times – the concentration, the stubbornness, the refusal to allow herself to perform at anything less than peak capacity. But the expressiveness in her hands, in the way that her body slightly rocked to the music – both were unexpected. Not anticipated. She seemed wholly consumed in a moment created by both ancient notes and the storytelling in her hands.

Watching Shepard like this – Shepard-before-she-became-Shepard – just one week before the destruction of the Mindoir colony, confirmed a great deal within his mind. This child, with her fingers dancing across ivory keys, creating an evocation of a time long past, sat before a future that she could have, in no way, expected.

Relaxing in his chair, he closed his eyes, letting the cascades of notes in the second movement of the piece dance in his ears. In the spartan room that he occupied, the notes seemed to echo and combine, leaving behind tarnished memories and fallen hopes all at once. He briefly wondered what this younger Shepard dreamed when she slept at night. Had she wanted to become a piano virtuoso? Did she see herself becoming a farmer on the Mindoir colony, following in her parents’ footsteps, living a simple and quiet life in a planet that promised none of the above in the days to come?

Did she walk between the fabricated buildings that made up her colony, stare out at endless fields of genetically modified wheat and corn, and realize that this was not her destiny? Did she stand there and feel an imperceptible shimmer, a whisper on the wind, a still voice that told her, ‘No, this is not for you’?

Taking a draw on his cigarette, his eyes remaining closed as the music surrounded him and consumed him, he realized that he knew this voice well. It was a disturbance of quiet sleep, the chill on a warm breeze, always a reminder in his own mind. It was Fate herself, whispering in a sibilant voice that he, nor Shepard for that matter, would die quietly in a bed in some hospice. Their end promised blood and violence, both diminishing into darkness and, at last, undisturbed peace.

The woman’s voice spoke in this darkness, this time with urgency in her voice. “Sir, we’ve detected a ship in the direct vicinity. It’s the Normandy.”

The piano notes ended in enthusiastic applause. The Illusive Man did not open his eyes. “Wake Leng. Tell him to give them a warm welcome.”


End file.
